


Hope in Bloom

by AuroraNova



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Cultural Differences, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Cardassia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 17:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18921565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraNova/pseuds/AuroraNova
Summary: Tari was fortunate to be hired as Councilor Garak's housekeeper. He treats her well, the workload is relatively light, and most of all she's warm. Then the councilor brings home a human lover who might just ruin everything.





	Hope in Bloom

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Before Destruction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19376077) by [AuroraNova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraNova/pseuds/AuroraNova). 



> This idea came to me instead of the end to the story I was trying to finish, as these things go. So I present to you a different perspective on Julian Bashir.

Tari worried she was on the verge of losing her job.

This was all the more surprising because she’d been uncertain about the wisdom of accepting it in the first place. A few hours after two members of the provisional Detapa Council toured her refugee camp, one of them returned and asked if she had any interest in housekeeping. It was none other than Councilor Garak, a man quite popular among the service classes by virtue of being one of them. A housekeeper’s son, a man with no father on record, sitting at the very height of government! Truly, they lived in remarkable days.

Tari hesitated to work for him all the same. It was well-known that housekeepers often performed sexual favors, and she wasn’t yet that desperate.

“May I ask why me, Councilor?” she’d inquired. If he said it was because she was an attractive young woman, she’d politely decline.

“Most people here are simply eating their ration bars,” he’d replied. “You made yours into a delicious-smelling soup.”

Her mother had cooked for a school, and Tari was halfway through apprenticeship for her own culinary career before the Dominion destroyed nearly everything. She’d dreamed of one day opening her own restaurant, if she could attract investors, though now it seemed like that was another lifetime.

The soups kept her soul from crumbling like every building in her neighborhood. Foraging for edible plants to supplement her ration bars and turning them into good meals was the best way she knew to fight despair, though even that had only mixed success.  

“I’m afraid the salary is low,” the councilor continued, “as I have only my own on which to draw.” Yes, most politicians would have family wealth, and he obviously did not. “However, you’ll have your own room in a safe, comfortable home and won’t go hungry. I like to think I won’t be demanding, but I suppose you’ll have to be the judge of that.”

“Just for you, Councilor?”

“Yes.”

Tari had a genetic mutation which made her particularly susceptible to cold, so while most people in the camps were chilled but in no danger, she fared worse. The idea of trading her drafty tent for a snug room held undeniable appeal. And yet…

Councilor Garak knew what she thought, because he said, “I’d like someone to keep the place clean and to cook. Nothing more.”

The cold in Tari’s bones won out. She accepted, deciding if he wanted sexual services, she could always leave.

He hadn’t so much as touched her, and after a month, she considered herself exceptionally fortunate. Councilor Garak lived in a modest two-story home in one of the city’s better remaining residential districts. It wasn’t a sprawling mansion to clean, and he was not a slovenly man. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Her duties were straightforward: keep the home in order, and cook breakfast and dinner seven nights out of nine. She was given the delightfully warm first-floor bedroom in the typical arrangement for a housekeeper. Additionally, she received better food than could be found in the camp and a salary sufficient for her few needs. She could experiment with recipes as she pleased, even forage if she wanted, and often received compliments for her efforts. For a housekeeper, Tari had considerable free time, on which her employer made no demands.

As for rules, she had only to leave Councilor Garak’s study as his private sanctuary and refrain from sharing details of his private life with the curious.

Considering the sorry state of her coat, the councilor had even done her the kindness of giving her additional money, prior to her first payday, to replace it. She’d fully expected the funds to be an advance, but in fact the coat was a gift.  

In short, Tari had an enviable situation by current standards for a young woman of meager prospects with no surviving family. And then, just as she’d relaxed into her good fortune, the councilor came home early one day.

“If all goes according to plan, I’ll return tomorrow with a friend,” he’d told her. “Please prepare the guest room, Tari. You can remove the blankets. He won’t need them.”

It wasn’t her place to inquire, so she did as asked.

The following day, Councilor Garak returned with a Federaji man in tow. “Tari, this is Dr. Bashir.”

She nodded respectfully through her bewilderment. “Pleased to meet you, Doctor.”

“Lovely to meet you. Garak’s told me wonderful things about your cooking.”

“I’m flattered,” she said. “I’ve prepared the guest room for you.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” said Dr. Bashir.

“That’s the beauty of expecting the worst,” said Councilor Garak. “When the best happens, you’re pleasantly surprised. Come, my dear, let me give you the tour.”

Tari tried not to show her great surprise until they turned. Councilor Garak brought this Federaji as his _lover_?

He had. In fact, while Dr. Bashir unpacked his bags, the councilor made a point to speak with Tari. “I hope you’ll stay despite the additional member of my household, but I will of course provide an excellent reference if you chose otherwise.”

“I’d like to stay, Councilor,” she said. The situation was highly irregular, but then, so was the councilor’s status and indeed everything on Cardassia since the Dominion attempted to destroy the world. “May I ask if Dr. Bashir has any special requirements?”

“He unfortunately doesn’t appreciate rokassa juice or fish juice, and I suspect he’ll want to turn the guest room into an office for research. Doubtlessly he’ll keep it cold.”

That didn’t answer any of Tari’s more urgent questions, the ones she couldn’t ask with propriety. Then again, those were obvious. The councilor went on, “He’s human, if you’re wondering. As I’m sure you’ve guessed, he has agreed to come as my ra’kor _._ Word will inevitably get out, but I trust we can count on your discretion.”

“Of course.”

Tari noted his word choice. A lover was one thing, and alien lovers were not unheard of. A ra’kor was quite another matter, involving as it did equality and partnership. Oh, yes, the gossips would have much to say about this.

They heard nothing from Tari. Councilor Garak had earned her loyalty.

Before dinner, Dr. Bashir found her. “Garak says there will be rumors, so I think it’s best to give you the facts. Yes, I was a Starfleet doctor, I was forced out because I’m genetically engineered, and Garak and I were friends for years on Deep Space Nine.”

Councilor Garak entered the kitchen. “Don’t mind Dr. Bashir. He’s very fond of truth.”

Tari nodded and went back to the orat patties she was forming. Really, what could she say? She had no idea why Starfleet would deprive itself of a doctor over genetic engineering, nor why Dr. Bashir thought she needed to know how his relationship with Councilor Garak came to be.

“I’ll try not to cause you much trouble,” said the doctor.

“Perhaps allow her to prepare dinner in peace,” suggested Councilor Garak.

“Oh! Of course, I’m sorry. You can tell me if I’m getting in your way,” said Dr. Bashir as he left the kitchen.

Tell a member of the family they were in the way? Tari thought humans must treat their housekeepers very differently.

Dr. Bashir started working at a hospital on the third day after his arrival, and managed another three before the gossip caught up to his relationship with Councilor Garak. With the state in disarray, such chatter proliferated far more than it used to. Tari wasn’t sure this was an improvement.

Regardless, she kept her own counsel, as she had since she started working for Councilor Garak. She didn’t speak of the doctor even to Peral, a neighboring housekeeper with whom she’d struck up a friendship.

Unfortunately, this meant she had no one with whom she might discuss her concerns.

Dr. Bashir didn’t like her. That much was clear. When she walked into a room, he grew stiff and shot concerned glances her way. Instead of asking her to do her job, he did many tasks himself – or attempted to, at any rate. The man could barely make a snack without a replicator, and energy restrictions meant he could rarely replicate. One day when he wasn’t working, he decided to start the dishwasher after making his lunch, which would have been fine if he hadn’t run it _without soap_. He was utterly useless in domestic matters and should’ve been happy to let Tari see to such things, but he obviously was not.

It wasn’t as though he lacked for work. Cardassia needed all the doctors it could get, and since he had refused to use Councilor Garak’s influence to get a prestigious position, he was quite busy in the local hospital.

No, he simply didn’t like Tari, or trust her to do her job. Thus her great concern.

She spent two and a half weeks trying to demonstrate her value. Firstly, she paid close attention to what food he especially liked, but he ate everything except pickled regova eggs, so that didn’t give her much to go on. She indulged his attempts to speak in Cardassi, even when she had to strain to understand his accent and peculiar grammar, and patiently explained the ingredients of the pantry to him one day when he got curious.

Nothing seemed to help. Dr. Bashir remained outwardly friendly but clearly unsatisfied with her work and presence, and she hadn’t the slightest idea what to do about the problem.

Tari believed Councilor Garak was happy with her, but it wasn’t unheard of for household staff to be let go because a new spouse or lover requested it. Moreover, the councilor’s devotion to Dr. Bashir was evident; it seemed there was little he wouldn’t do for the man, if Tari didn’t miss her guess.

She did not want to return to a refugee tent and the numbing cold, particularly as autumn was fast giving way to winter. Something had to be done. That became abundantly clear the evening Dr. Bashir asked her to show him how to wash his clothes.

If only she knew what to do.

At first she considered speaking with Dr. Bashir himself, but rejected the idea. Councilor Garak was her employer, he had treated her well thus far, and anyway she had no clue what to make of this odd, energetic human he’d brought home. Dr. Bashir seemed to return the councilor’s devotion – they unquestionably enjoyed spirited debates, though to Tari’s mind they picked the oddest subjects – but beyond that, he remained an enigma.

She made one of the councilor’s favorite meals, and even found enough wild berries for a small tart. It didn’t hurt to demonstrate her best work.

Once the dishes were done, she was free until it was time to make breakfasts. Tari enjoyed her evenings – and, because she was efficient with her duties, two out three afternoons – to do as she pleased. This particular night she had a task of the utmost importance.

Councilor Garak and Dr. Bashir were both in the common room, the councilor reading while the doctor recorded a letter, chattering away in his strange language to the computer. It was as good an opportunity as Tari expected to get.

“Councilor, may I please speak with you in private?” she asked.

“Certainly.”

When they were in the kitchen, Tari took a deep breath and began. “I’m very grateful for this job, and I hope I haven’t given you cause to regret offering it to me.”

“You have not,” said the councilor, watching her very closely. “On the contrary, I’m delighted to have you.”

“Then please, sir, may I ask what I need to do in order to earn Dr. Bashir’s approval?”

“You think he disapproves of you?”

That was not what Tari expected to hear. “He doesn’t appear to trust me to do my job,” she said carefully. “Yesterday he asked me to show him how to do his laundry.”

“I see,” said Councilor Garak. “Well, I think this misunderstanding has gone on quite long enough. Have you been worried he would request your dismissal, Tari?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault for not realizing. I’ve been very busy with the new legal code, but that’s no excuse. Come, we’ll discuss this now.”

She followed him back into the common room, tentatively relieved yet still confused. The councilor said something in Dr. Bashir’s language; she hadn’t known he spoke it. Tari only understood the first word, Julian, which she knew to be Dr. Bashir’s given name.

Dr. Bashir turned on his translator, fortunately. Then the councilor told him, “Tari is under the impression that you are displeased with her, possibly to the extent of requesting her dismissal.”

“No, no!” The way Dr. Bashir’s eyes widened was almost comical. “That’s not the case at all.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“It’s not you. I’m uncomfortable with the whole concept of a housekeeper, to be honest. We don’t have them on Earth or in Starfleet. There are only a handful of Federation worlds who still have housekeeping staff.”

Tari remained puzzled. “But who cleans and cooks for you?”

“We do it ourselves, often with the help of technology.”

Before the Dominion assault, Cardassia had such technology. Now there was rarely the energy to spare for it. Still, those had been the realm of the middle classes, people who could afford not to do manual labor but weren’t wealthy enough to have it done properly by someone else. And, of course, a housekeeper was a sign of status.

Dr. Bashir continued, “The exact level of technological assistance is mostly a matter of personal preference… sorry, I’m getting off track, aren’t I? The point is, from my perspective, a housekeeper suggests inequality which I find deeply troubling.”

“The Federation prizes equality,” added Councilor Garak.

She considered this. “So you want to do your own laundry because you feel it’s wrong to expect another person to tend it for you?”

“More or less, yes.”

That fit the pattern. Tari wondered how anything got accomplished in the Federation. First of all, technology could never completely perfect most tasks. Replicated food was no substitute for real cooking. Moreover, if they truly prized equality, how did anyone know what was expected of them in life? It sounded disquieting.

Such was not her concern, anyway. “I see,” she said, even though she didn’t really. She understood the important part of this conversation, namely, that her position was safe and Dr. Bashir didn’t dislike her. “Doctor, this is my job, and it’s one I’m extremely grateful to have. Councilor Garak brought me to work for him from a refugee camp, an unpleasant place I had few prospects for leaving.”

“And I had you worried you’d be back in the cold. I’m sorry, Tari.”

“Cold?” she echoed, curious why he’d mentioned that. For most people, cold wasn’t the main problem.

Dr. Bashir looked at Councilor Garak. “You didn’t tell her?”

The councilor sighed theatrically. “I saw no need to mention it, but I suppose I have no choice now. I know you suffer from cold more than most, Tari.”

“You do?” She tried to hide it, as one did with a weakness.

“My mother had the same condition. I know the symptoms, and while I myself fortunately did not inherit it, I spent seven years on a cold space station, so I have great sympathy for your plight. The soup was not the only reason I offered you this job.”

The rumors of his exile were true, then. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to speak of cold and why he cared about it. Tari found herself surprisingly unconcerned. Whoever Councilor Garak had been, he was now a kind employer and a good leader. That was enough for her. 

“I’m thankful you did,” she said.

“Again, I apologize,” said Dr. Bashir. “While we’re on the subject, you’re getting a raise this week.”

“I am?”

“Dr. Bashir feels morally obligated to contribute to your salary, since he benefits from your labor,” explained Councilor Garak.

Tari thought perhaps this human was not without his redeeming features, odd though he may be. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Tari, do you think we could try something a bit different?” asked Dr. Bashir. “I understand it’s not exactly traditional, but would you be open to telling me when I do something that makes you uncomfortable?”

It was far from traditional, to be sure. If his request was genuine, she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to try, and Councilor Garak’s nod was encouraging.

“I promise I won’t be upset with you for it,” added the doctor.

Tari decided to attempt his suggestion with something exceptionally reasonable. “If you must start the dishwasher, would you please add soap?” He’d used the allotted energy without cleaning dishes, forcing her to wash them by hand.

“You didn’t add soap?” Councilor Garak gave his partner an incredulous look.

Dr. Bashir appeared confused. “It’s not sonic?”

Tari had never even heard of a sonic dishwasher. Still, at least it meant the doctor wasn’t quite as clueless about the basics of cleaning as she’d first assumed, just clueless about how the tasks were done on Cardassia. 

“We have never embraced sonic technology to the extent the Federation has,” said the councilor.

“Dee-ess nine has sonic showers,” said Dr. Bashir. Seeing Tari’s confusion over the untranslated portion, he clarified, “The station formerly known as Terok Nor.”

“Planetside uses are minimal, because the method is considered inferior.” Councilor Garak shook his head. “I see we need to have another discussion of cultural differences.”

“I think so.” Turning to Tari, the doctor went on, “I’m making your job harder in the process of trying to make it easier and appease my conscience, aren’t I?”

He was, but Tari doubted the wisdom of confirming the statement out loud.

Dr. Bashir frowned, apparently to himself. “I have to work on that, clearly. At any rate, please continue to tell me when I’m causing trouble or discomfort.”

“I hope we’ve put your mind at ease,” said Councilor Garak.

“Yes, thank you.”

She still didn’t know what to make of Dr. Bashir. In fact, he was now a greater mystery than before, because he was so very alien down to his thoughts. Nevertheless, Tari felt much better for understanding that the problem was nothing related to her personally, and thus her job was in no danger. There was no reason to fear returning to a cold tent.

After giving them a respectful nod, Tari exited the room intending to take a walk and collect night-blooming strenelsta flowers, which she could dry for a pleasant tea. She’d no sooner gotten to the hallway when she heard Dr. Bashir say, “Don’t look at me like that, Elim. I’ve never seen a dishwasher that wasn’t sonic.”

“And you assumed the same technology preferred by the Federation is obviously best and preferred across the galaxy.”

“Which you do at least twice a day about Cardassian customs.”

Dr. Bashir might have been struggling to adapt to some aspects of Cardassian culture, but he had no such difficulty with verbal loveplay. There was hope for him yet.

Hope was a scarce commodity on Cardassia at present, and Tari was pleased to find it wherever it might be. In this case, she thought there was some for her, as well. She had a good job and a warm place to live, so a human with peculiar guilt over her services was not such a large problem, in the long view.

Humming to herself, she left the men to their debate on the merits of sonic technology and went to pick strenelsta flowers. There was life on Cardassia still.


End file.
